


The Ghosts In Between

by ticktockclockwork



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Additional tags on the authors notes, Character Study, Ficlet, M/M, didnt want to spoil anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork
Summary: Between all stories, all moments, are the ghosts left behind.Or Jaskier meets someone from the past.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	The Ghosts In Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxenjoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxenjoy/gifts).



“I knew a witcher once.”

It’s been over a decade since Jaskier met Geralt back in Posada and while he hasn’t spent all of that time with the man, the time he has had has been splendid. Monster to monster, town to town, his life has become a rich tapestry of stories and songs and lived experiences he never would have gotten locked away in the halls of Oxenfurt.

“I know I ain’t look it, but I did.”

It’s been over a decade and while each day seems to bring a new adventure, the one thing that seems to remain the same are the type of people he meets in bars. Each tavern is different, sure, with its own unique stench, but the people in them, who frequent them, regardless of town, all seem the same.

Jaskier has seen the same drunkard at the same bar top in the same town ten times over. It’s why he doesn’t pay the woman much mind when she starts speaking in his direction.

“Big, brute of a man was he, scared kids when he walked through the streets.”

Jaskier spares the woman a glance, unimpressed with her description and only partially believing her story at all. His ballads to Geralt’s adventures have grown quite popular and he’s played a few this evening. This woman’s story could be an extrapolation of those songs, her interpretation of the type of man that would be required to fight wyverns and drakes. He doubts heavily that she’s ever met a witcher and by the look the barkeep gives her, he feels a bit secure in that assumption.

He’s always been one to humor though.

“A witcher you say? Big as a mountain?” He only partially teases, trying not to be cruel. He might be on the wrong side of tipsy but he’s aiming for playful, not mean. Something to dredge a few more details out of the woman, see how far her story has spun.

He’s not the only one who has hit the cup a bit this evening, though he is sure he’s the only one who's been doing it for fair trade. He’s spent most of the evening cajoling the bar patrons into many rounds of various songs, loosening their purse strings and their tongues. While Geralt is off hunting a nest of ghouls haunting the woods just outside of town, Jaskier has been securing them lodgings and food. He’s whet his own tongue on the passable ale the bar is providing, but this woman looks to have sunk herself deep in the sharper rye spirits that braver men wouldn’t drink. It can’t be cheap or easy to swallow but by the heavy lines in this woman’s face and the dark shroud around her, she’s swallowed worse.

“Big as a mountain and twice as strong.” She insists now that she has his attention turning to him to slosh her drink in his direction. “You ain’t know the truth of it, but this man was as big as an ox and was dragging a beast into town. Only one kinda man could take down something that big.”

Jaskier hums in false wonder, turning to rest his elbow on the bartop facing her. “What did the monster look like?”

She huffs and looks back down to the cup, shaking her head. “Didn’t see it proper, no, an’ he wouldn’t let me look too close, not with how it was slung all over his horse. But I ain’t stupid now, and weren’t back then. Knew what a beast looked like, dead or alive.”

Jaskier realizes rather quickly why he’s less inclined to be immediately kind to this woman, regardless of the truth behind her story. He’s usually more egregious and open to the older folks but this woman has struck him wrong already and though he tries he can’t help the roll of his eyes. She wouldn’t be the first to speak ill of witcher-kind, not even in a sideways manner. But he’s only just seeing the fruit of his melodic labor where it comes to clearing Geralt’s reputation and the battle has been more uphill than he’d like. No thanks to people like this.

Still, it wouldn’t be in his nature to turn away from a story. “And you saw him kill this beast? That one all slung about?” He asks as the bartender brings him another pint of ale, the two of them sharing a look as the woman lifts her head and shakes it. Her hair had at some point been in a complicated plait but the loose strands are framing her face in a messy halo now. Jaskier can tell she was pretty once, but perhaps not any longer.

“Not the first one, no. Not the one made of all arms and legs.”

“But another? What did that one look like?”

She meets his eyes for the first time and they’re not clear but they’re heavy with an emotion Jaskier can’t pinpoint. Guilt? Regret? Shame. It arrests him, causing him to look a little closer, lean a bit more in, despite his original irritation. “Like a girl.”

“Bard!” Jaskier jerks back to see Geralt calling to him from across the room and by the irritation on his face it isn’t the first time. He’s got his saddlebags slung over his shoulders and he motions upstairs to indicate he is retiring for the night. Jaskier waves him on, indicating he’s soon to follow, and the witcher doesn’t wait before retreating upstairs.

When Jaskier turns back to the woman, she’s long in her drink again, mumbling to herself. Whatever story she was telling, whatever reverie had gripped her, is gone now, adrift in liquor and long, long years. Jaskier looks between her and the steps leading up before slipping from his chair to head that way. As he passes her he touches her shoulder just briefly. “What’s your name, miss, if I might ask?” He’s gentler now, tilting his head closer.

“My name’s Marilka, boy.” She finishes her drink and points to the barkeep for another. “Now go. And be sure to take care of that one, the one you sing about so much. Give him what this world never will.”

Jaskier looks again to the stairs leading to their room, where the muse of so many songs now rests, preparing for the night. He thinks of their own brief but blossoming history, of the stories yet to come, of the ones he hasn’t heard yet, the ones that have shaped them both. He thinks that the world is small and cruel but that it doesn’t have to be, not always, not when good people walk it’s paths.

He straightens and takes a deep breath before heading towards the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't want to tag Marilka because it would ruin the surprise so I hope that's alright!
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@ticktockclockwork](https://ticktockclockwork.tumblr.com)


End file.
